


You're Like Captain Hook

by goddesswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Smut, phone sex operator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddesswan/pseuds/goddesswan
Summary: A while ago, I saw the prompt, "your voice sounds just like my phone sex operator's voice," and I couldn't ignore it.





	You're Like Captain Hook

Emma wouldn't say that she's lonely. She's actually the least lonely she's ever been. She has close friends and even co-workers that she likes. She prefers being single—too many past hurts and the distinct lack of need for a significant other, especially one of the male variety, keeping her content.

But she has been a little... hard up, lately.

It's not difficult for her to convince someone to take her to bed. It's pretty damn easy actually; all it takes is something short and a come-hither smile. What is hard is finding someone that doesn't repulse her and, even harder, finding the desire to go out in search of someone.

She's been working hard lately—bills don't pay themselves and all that. What started off as a desperate need to keep herself afloat became a steady job. So, while she's stable enough to not need to work herself to death, she still feels the need to prove herself worthy and maintain her position. And the harder she works, the more responsibility her boss gives her, leading to her total exhaustion. The only free time she has she tends to spend watching Netflix or going out for the occasional drink with friends, not looking for someone to hook up with.

* * *

 

She sees the ad when she's looking into a new skip online. It's off to the side of her screen and an ad of this variety wouldn't pique her interest if it weren't for the fact that it was marketed towards females. She's only ever seen phone sex commercials clearly aimed towards men, with busty women saying some flirty shit. This ad though is of a man who bares a remarkable resemblance to Chris Evans (honestly she wouldn't be surprised if it was a photoshopped image of him) sitting on a couch with a phone to his ear and a flirty grin, "Ladies, you don't have to be lonely," written across the bottom.

If done properly (it rarely is,) she thoroughly enjoys a man talking to her in bed. It's hard to find porn with decent enough dialogue to put on while she takes care of herself, so dirty talk is usually something she goes without.

She writes down the number on the ad and decides that if she's in the mood when she's finished her research for the night, she'll give it a shot. Worst case scenario, she wastes ten dollars. Best case scenario, she has a satisfying orgasm.

At exactly 11:41, she finishes her research for the night. Although she's not feeling particularly horny—finding out how scummy men can truly be tends to do the opposite of arousing her—she's still very worked up. So she dials the number.

She is greeted by an operated voice system that prompts her to press numbers in correspondence to what kind of service she would like. She starts with the basic five-minute block that she is told can be extended per minute or per block for an additional charge—$10 down payment and a $1.99 per extra minute or $15 for an additional ten-minute block.

The voice she hears after the dial tone takes her by surprise. She knows it shouldn't. This is a phone sex operation service; the person is being paid to sound sexy. But take her by surprise, it does.

"Hello, love," the man says in a rich, British-accented voice.

"Uhm, hi."

She's actually nervous. Why is she nervous? It's some random dude over the phone whom she will never meet in person.

"Let's start off with the basics. How would you like me to address you? Your name? A particular pet name?" He drills off the questions and she's taken off guard because she hadn't even thought of that. Of course, he would ask her what she wanted to be called.

"I—I don't know..." she trails off unsure. She _really_ didn't think this through.

"Relax, love. We're not going to do anything here that you don't want to do," he soothes and she knows one thing’s for sure, the man, with his voice, was born for this. "If you don't want to give me your name, that's fine. You're under no obligation to reveal any information about yourself. Although, if this ends up being something you enjoy and would like to do again, some would be nice. This doesn't have to be anything sexual either. We can simply talk if you'd like. This is all entirely up to you."

"I don't really know what I'm doing here so having to decide how this plays out doesn't calm my nerves."

"Ok, let's get the big question out of the way. Are you looking for something sexual or just someone to talk to?"

"I'm here for sexual," she blurts out and thank God he can't see her because she's burning a bright red that's worked its way down to her chest.

"Alright," he chuckles lowly and there's a slight shift to the tone of his voice that sends a shiver down her spine. "I can do sexual, love. Is that what you'd like me to call you? Love?"

She's never been fond of pet names. Neal used to call her baby which squicked her out and Walsh only ever called her anything other than her name when he wanted something or when he was apologizing. But the way he says love makes her stomach feel all tingly inside, an intensity level one step above butterflies, and it doesn't feel cheap or condescending, so she finds she doesn't mind it at all.

"That works for me. What do I call you?"

"Hook. Captain Hook to be precise."

_Do they background check these people before hiring them?_ She's gone from being slightly reassured to feeling like this man hasn't entirely got a grasp on reality.

"Hook?" she asks astonished.

"That's it. The first ever caller I got had a thing for pirates and she seemed to like it enough and the next thing I knew, it became my signature. So, Hook it is," he explains and she's back to being reassured.

"Pirates? Oh my god. What does that entail?"

"Honestly, a lot of nautical puns," he confesses.

"Ok, I'm _definitely_ going to need to hear one of those."  
  
"When I jab you with my sword, you will feel it," he growls, and holy shit. She never would have thought that would have been her cup of tea but damn did it do something for her if the slight jolt to her center counts for anything.

Her gasp must have been audible because he then asks, "Liked that one, did you, lass?"

She nods but then realizes he can't hear that.

"Maybe."

"Is that the route we’re going tonight?"

"Another time." It's actually been a pretty enjoyable experience, entertaining at least, so far and she can picture herself calling back again. "Let's get to it."

"As you wish then, milady. Take off your pants," he demands.

She puts him on speaker and does just that.

"Are they off?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now, your shirt."

She rips her shirt over her head and he says, "Ok, love, now I want you to lie back and get comfortable."

After propping up a stack of pillows and leaning back against them she asks, "Now what?"

"Now, I want you to take your hand and as lightly as possible, run it up your thigh, slowly. Can you do that for me?"

It amazes her what just a voice can do to a person, her skin itching and her blood starting to pulse in her ears.

"Mhmm."

"Now do it again, up the inside of your thigh," he breathes, the combination of her teasing touch and his voice sending a shiver up her spine. "I don't want you to touch yourself yet though."

"Isn't that what I'm doing?" she inquires. "Touching myself?"

"Oh, you're a smart one, huh?" he chuckles and she hopes he does it again before their time is over. "I want you to take your nails and gently scratch right where the inside of your thigh meets your center. Imagine it's the stubble of my cheek rubbing against you."

He continues on like that for an indiscernible amount of time—but really no longer than a total of 25 minutes because she went ahead and paid the extra $30 for 20 more minutes—telling her what to do and when, whispering completely filthy things in her ear, and coaxing her to not one but two earth-shattering orgasms.

He tells her she's been utterly brilliant and she asks him if it's possible for her to get him if she calls again. He gives her the information to contact him again and she tucks it away for future use, noting that they share an area code.

—

It's been just longer than a month and she's called Hook a total of four times now. She'd probably be a little ashamed at having become slightly dependent on a stranger over the phone to bring her sexual release if the orgasms weren't so good.

They usually start off by chatting a little; he's unbelievably easy to talk to. She knows it's his job to make her feel comfortable and wanted, but it never feels forced. It doesn't take long for them to get down to business though and he gets her worked up and over the edge in an embarrassing amount of time.

Although she doesn't feel like she's doing anything wrong, she hasn't told anyone. How do you tell your friends you've been calling a phone sex operator once a week?

She's meeting David and Mary Margaret at a nearby Italian restaurant because David wants her to meet his new friend, whom he met in a coffee shop of all places, over a month ago. Which isn't something new for her. David is the most annoyingly charming person she's ever known, the only person coming anywhere near being his wife. Between the two of them, she's constantly meeting "new friends."

She waves off the hostess when she walks in, having already spotted her friends sitting at a high top table. David stands to give her a hug and she gives a very pregnant Mary Margaret a stern look so that she doesn't do the same.

"Isn't that thing almost out yet?" she asks taking off her leather jacket, leaving her in a simple but nice, black dress.

"God, I hope so," her friend sighs.

"Where's your friend?"

David simply points behind her and she turns to see an incredibly attractive man walking up to their table.

"Hello, lass. Killian Jones," he says and dear lord, he's British. Upon seeing her outstretched hand, he shifts his jacket from his right hand to his left or, she should say, to his hook. "Apologies, love. I normally wear a wooden hand when meeting new people but the hook is easier to drive with and I forgot my other attachment at home."

"Don't apologize. I like it. You're like Captain Hook," she blurts out without thinking and before she can apologize for being so ignorant he bursts into laughter, tossing his head back and clutching at his waist. It's a wonderful sound. "Get that one often?"

"Please don't," David implores, leaving her more confused.

"Yes, but not for reasons your thinking. You see I'm a writer but I'm only just now getting somewhere with that so for the past couple of years I've been doing something else part time to keep stable," he explains, jovially.

"Doing what? Being a pirate at kids birthday parties?"

"No, although, that's actually a decent idea. I'm a phone sex operator."

Her heart drops into her stomach. How many British phone sex operators can there be that live in the area and respond to Captain Hook? She tries to keep her expression neutral, to keep from alerting her friends to her distress and to not offend him with her horrified face.

"What does that entail?" she asks and an odd look crosses his face. "Phone sex, that is?"

"Well, my specialty is being a pirate. I'm actually fairly highly rated due to it. What I do is mostly a lot of roleplaying. You wouldn't believe some of the things that the women that call are into."  
  
"Is it all like that?" she inquires, trying to act as if she has no knowledge on the subject when in fact she has a great deal.

"Mostly. I get the occasional woman who's just lonely and wanting someone to talk to but a majority of my clients want things sexual in nature, typically things they are ashamed of getting elsewhere."

They're momentarily interrupted by the waiter asking for their drink orders. Mary Margaret gets a water and out of solidarity, so does David. She orders a red wine and Killian does as well.

"Wine?"

"I'm typically a rum man but it sounded refreshing," he shrugs, with a grin.

"Because of the whole pirate thing?"

"That's not the sole reason but it does go well with my image, doesn't it?"

Damn, he's even more charming in person. What with his glittering eyes, cocky grin, and restless eyebrows, she's not sure she'll be able to make it through the meal without sweeping everything off the table and demanding he take her right there, in full view of the diners. She'd like to find out how the naughty things he describes to her over the phone work out in person.

Ignoring her growing interest in the point of his ears, they chat amicably—about "anything other than this baby" as per Mary Margaret's orders—until the food comes. Once the meal is nearly finished, Mary Margaret gets a nose bleed.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she waves Emma off, holding a maroon cloth napkin to her face. "This happens. We talked to my doctor about it and he said it's a common side effect. Something about the blood vessels expanding and blood pressure. It's just been a long day for me."

"I'm sorry. If you weren't feeling well we should have postponed," Emma chides her friend.

"No, I wasn't feeling bad. It just snuck up on me," she assures her. "We hardly get together anymore and David wanted a chance for you and Killian to meet."

"But we should be getting you home now," David interjects grabbing Mary Margaret's jacket and dropping cash on the table. Emma moves to do the same, having finished her food, but he waves her off. "Stay. Enjoy your night off. Make a new friend."

After the couple walks out the doors of the restaurant, she turns back to Killian.

"I almost think she did that one purpose."

"Aye, I'm inclined to agree."

"Have you been on the receiving end of one of their set ups before?"

"Once, a couple weeks after we met. I was invited out to a bar to meet up with them and a lass named Regina," he explains but then a rueful grin overtakes his face. "Another fellow by the name of Robin was there, playing darts with mates though, and she spent more time making snippy comments in his direction than listening to anything Mary Margaret or I had to say."

"Yeah, that might have been more of an effort to spur something into action between them than between you and her."

Despite Mary Margaret's obvious displeasure, Regina and Robin have been flirting around the edge of something for nearly a year. Regina hurls insults at the guy with venom that would fell the strongest of men but Robin just responds with a haughty 'your majesty.' One would think that would make for the opposite of a good match, but that one wouldn't know Regina Mills and the way that her belittling is a clear mask for her attraction and worse, her feelings.

"I gathered as much when Mary Margaret called the man over to tell him about how I was a new friend of David's and how sure she was that Regina and I would hit it off."

"Did you?"

"Hit it off? I suppose," he ponders rubbing his chin and she _doesn't_ think of what his stubble would feel like beneath her own fingers. "She made a rather tactless comment about my hand but other than that, the banter was enjoyable."

"She, uh, yeah, she does that."

"But enough talk about her. I have a question for you."

"Alright," she says hesitantly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms under her chest.

"Please, don't take off running right away."

All she gives in response is a nod.

"I've recently acquired a new... client. Lovely lass. Good humored, hesitant but acceptant to new things, alluring voice, pays for a nice chunk of time. I've only had a handful of conversations with her but, and not to offend you, you sound an uncanny amount like her."

At least three, possibly four, large and heavy rocks have settled in her stomach. She knew where his train of thought was going before he finished but, god, she hoped it would take a turn. Tempted to ignore his wishes and run out of the restaurant as fast as possible, she eyes her exit options warily but decides against it. If she were to bolt now he would likely mention it to David. Staying and discussing it with him was her only option.

"That's not a question," she finally says.

"Are you her?"

Renounce the idea or beg him to keep his mouth shut? Deny or plead?

She decides to be brave and answer truthfully. She'll never be able to call him again and surely he'll know she lied if she suddenly stops needing his services.

"I am." Lord help her.

"Then you're even lovelier than I imagined," he discloses, slanting himself forward and propping his elbows on the table. If the hue of his eyes was overwhelming before, they're crushing now with the added sparkle.

She blinks, startled by the admission. "You imagined?"

It shouldn't be a revelation. She's spent enough time, laying in bed after they've hung up, breathing heavily, and wondering just what he would look like. She'd basically just settled on him having long curly hair and a mustache, though.

"Well, yeah, from time to time."

"Time to time?" she asks, dazed.

"All of the time." His eyes aren't so shimmering anymore; they've darkened, become more intense. "It's impossible not to imagine the face that goes with the voice."

"So you imagine all of your customers?" She leans forward herself, bringing her face closer to his. They've entered flirty territory now.

"Some, not all," he corrects, tilting his head slightly. "It's hard not to wonder but it's easy to picture celebrities and such to ease the curiosity. I'm not often actually aroused when working. Things are typically more clinical on my end. A few, I ponder in more detail than others. But you, I've spent the most time envisioning."

"Oh?" she breathes

"I was correct in guessing your hair color, length even. I imagined running my hand through it—"

"Your rings would get tangled," she interrupts.

"That's likely but it can be worked around. Now, your eyes, I imagined brown. You couldn't imagine how pleasantly surprised I was to discover such an alluring shade of green. And you're bone structure, bloody hell, it's splendid."

She doesn't answer. She can't answer. She just sits there flustered, flattered, and flummoxed.

"Too forward?" he asks, easing backward off the table giving her much needed space to think.

"I've put men in handcuffs for less," she finally settles on, not wanting this man, no matter how attractive he may be, to get the best of her.

"You're a cop?"

"Bail bondsperson."

He tilts further back in his seat, astonished.

"That's unbelievably attractive."

She's feeling awkward now. It's not unusual for men to be interested in her line of work but this—the way he's been looking at her since he arrived and his frank compliments—just feels too... genuine. She doesn't do well with sincerity; she never has. It's probably a result of going so long without anything of the heartfelt variety.

While his sincerity does unsettle her, it doesn't make her tense up quite as bad as it usually does. And, fucking hell, he's insanely hot. She knows he can get her over the edge with just his voice so she decides to do something she might regret later.

"Can I trust you to keep all of this to yourself?"

"If that's what you wish, love, you have my utter discretion," he says solemnly.

That decides it for her. "How'd you get here?" she asks grabbing her jacket and purse.

"I walked," he answers, practically stumbling out of his chair. "I don't live far from here."

"Alright, buddy. Follow me to my car."

The ride to his apartment really is short but still too long for her liking. By the time he shuts his front door behind her, she's about ready to burst and releases a tension she didn't know she was holding when he pounces on her with his mouth.

Nine times out of ten, she'd be annoyed by the forwardness. Thankfully for him, this is time number one. It was perfectly clear where this was headed and she's actually relieved he made the first move.

After a few minutes of swirling tongues and wandering hands, he begins pushing his hips into hers. She takes the hint when she feels his hands moving down her legs, and raises one of them up his hip, helping him lift her into his arms.

When he drops her on the end of his bed, he immediately steps back to remove his clothes.

"God, you wear a lot of layers," she notes after he's peeled off his jacket and begun working on the buttons of his vest.

"Aye," he chuckles and she's slightly amazed—definitely aroused—by the dexterity displayed with the speed of unbuttoning the damn thing.

"One thing’s for sure, you're good with you hand."

"Oh, love, you haven't seen good yet," he growls and she's embarrassingly wet.

She slips her dress over her head as he begins working on his pants and then they're left in nothing but their underwear. He advances on her and she crawls backward up to the top of the bed. They both still when she's backed up against the headboard and he's hovering over her.

"Bloody hell. I don't even know where to begin with you," he groans but then, "Actually, I do."

He latches his lips onto the pulse point of her neck and begins sucking with just the right pressure. Before she can smack him away, warning against hickeys, he licks a hot stripe up the skin and stops behind her ear. He flattens his tongue against the back of her earlobe and then sucks the whole thing into her mouth, nibbling the soft skin between his teeth.

He then kisses along the edge of her jaw and brings his lips back to hers. As he dizzies her with his tongue, he unlatches her bra, nimbler than she herself can do with two hands. He pulls back to look at was he's uncovered and groans deeply.

His eyes flit back and forth as if unable to decide which one to start with. In the end, he chooses the right, wrapping his lips around the bud of her nipple and lavishing it. He switches between light swirling motions and fast flicks of his tongue. When she feels the cool metal of the curve of his hook against the other, her brain short circuits.

Just as she's about to scream that she _can't take it anymore_ , he lifts his head. She nearly sobs in relief but is equally pleased and dismayed when he promptly turns his attention to the other breast, moving his hand, agonizingly slowly down her stomach.

"Hmmm," he hums when he reaches the edge of her waistband, curling his fingers and rubbing his knuckles gently up and down exactly where she needs him.

"Fucking, fuck," she gasps when he presses the ring of one of his fingers into her clit, rubbing the gem in a luxurious motion.

He releases her nipple with a wet plopping sound and grins up at her. "Yeah?"

Mouth slack, she nods. He tucks the tip of his hook into her underwear and starts sliding down her body with the movement of her underwear. When she realizes his intent, his breath ghosting hotly over her center, she shakes her head.

"No," she demands in what's barely more than a whisper. "Take those off and get back up here"

"Aren't you curious about what I can do with my mouth?" he asks with a smirk. She shakes her head. "How about just a taste then?"

Before she can answer, her head falls back as he licks up her center. She grabs weakly at his hair and yanks his head away.

"Ok, ok," he sighs, leaning back and pulling off his boxer briefs. And just _of fucking course_ , the man has a pretty dick. It wouldn't be enough for him to simply have great looks, a sexy voice, and talented fingers. No, he needed a great dick too.

He moves between her hips and she spreads her legs wider, allowing him to settle between them.

"I'd ask you if you're ready but I gathered as much when I was down—" He cuts off with a moan when she wraps her fingers around him and guides him to her.

"Anything else to say?"

"Not much."

Then he's pushing all the way in, filling her in the most wonderful way. It's all she can do at first, to lay back and let him thrust. But eventually, she spurs herself into action, curling one of her legs to wrap around him and clutching tightly at his shoulders. She moves one of her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and the other down his back to grab a handful of his ass. It's a great ass and she tells him as much.

"Believe me, lass, when I tell you the same," he laughs breathlessly into the skin of her neck.

His thrusts get faster and he drags against her clit in just the right way and before she knows it, he's sending her tumbling over the edge with gasping, sobbing breaths and fucking stars behind her clenched eyelids.

She lays there, breathing heavily, a loose-limbed puddle on the mattress as he follows her into release. She can't be bothered to do much of anything after he rolls off of her, in the long span of time it takes them to regain their senses.

"That was..." he murmurs once his breathing has evened some. He sounds far too enamored for her comfort and this is where the regret sets in.

"A one-time thing," she states getting out of the bed to redress.

"What no post-coital cuddle?" he inquires and it doesn't sound harsh, just slightly pained.

She fixes him with a hard look.

"You're not going to tell David right?"

"I gave you my word," he says with furrowed brows and flops back heavily against his pillows.

"Thank you," she mutters, slipping her shoes back on. She heads out of the room and almost doesn't hear his soft request for her to get home safe.

—

She doesn't call him again after that. Oh, she's tempted more times than she would like when she crawls into bed frustrated, remembering just how lust-inducing the sound of his voice is. But she just can't bring herself to do it.

David and Mary Margaret ask her out a few times but she turns them down with lame excuses of not feeling well or having too much work to do. She's sure they sense something amiss but they don't push her. She's grateful for that.

It's around nine in the evening, a few weeks after she left Hook—Killian—alone in his apartment to post-coital cuddle himself when she gets a call from an unknown number. She almost ignores it but it could be someone with information on her latest skip so she answers it. When she hears the voice on the other end of the line, she wishes she'd ignored it.

"Hello, love."

"This isn't your number," she states.

"Not the one you call, no," he replies sounding nervous, something she hasn't heard from him before. "I have a separate phone for work."

"Oh," she says feeling silly.

"Yeah."

There's a brief, awkward silence.

"David suspects something happened between us," he blurts out. Before she can berate him, "I didn't tell him anything but he won't let it go."

"Well, I have been kind of ignoring them," she sighs heavily, relaxing back into her pillows.

"Emma—" he begins but stops himself. She waits for him to continue. "I... I normally don't draw any attachments to my clients. If someone suddenly stops calling the only disappointment I feel is for the loss of money. But with you, well, I became attached."

"My vagina probably had something to do with that," she says dryly.

"No. Well, yes. But I had already developed feelings for you before we even met. I enjoyed our conversations immensely and that just doesn't happen for me. And while the other night was delightful, what I would like to continue the most is our communication."  
  
"Look, Hook," she says, ignoring the rhyme, "I've been described by multiple people as prickly so excuse me if I find it hard to believe that what you miss is talking to me."

"But that's just it! I quite fancy you for your prickliness."

She's stunned into silence.

"I'm not asking for anything serious right now," he pleads. "I just want the chance to get to know you better, to see if this can become something. And I really feel like this will become something wonderful."

She almost wants to hang up. Emotional confessions and requests for more are not things she's used to. But he sounds so earnest and she _really_ enjoys the orgasms she has when he's involved.

So, she doesn't hang up. Instead, she says, "Ok."

"Ok?"

She's slightly annoyed at his tone of surprise, but she doesn't blame the guy. She did walk out on him immediately after sex and proceed not to call him for weeks.

"We need to start slow, though."

"Perfectly acceptable."

"And no telling David and Mary Margaret until I say so."

"Mum's the words, my dear."

"And keep the dirty, pirate puns to a minimum."

"I'll try my best."

They meet for coffee a couple days later, before one of her stakeouts. He's just as charming and handsome as she remembered—she kind of hoped he wouldn't be. So when he asks if she'll be willing to meet again, "Say, tomorrow evening for wine and a movie?" she says yes.

They don't make it halfway through the film before he shows her just what she'd missed out on with his mouth before.


End file.
